


On the Perils of Being Curly

by Squeeful



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-08
Updated: 2010-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeeful/pseuds/Squeeful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are reasons you don't brush curly hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Perils of Being Curly

Waking up held a surprise for Doyle. He might not have noticed right away if it weren't for his partner leaning over him with a grin to put the Cheshire Cat to shame. Bodie never could wait to tell a punchline.

Doyle studied the man through one bleary eye. "What have you done to me?"

"Me? What makes you think I've done anything?" Bodie's face shifted to the picture of injured innocence and he smiled with beatific unconcern.

Doyle wasn't fooled for a moment, but he wasn't expected to be. "Because you're grinning like a loon and the room is empty so the butt of the joke must be me."

"No, I'd say you're the head of it!" Blue eyes sparkled with repressed glee.

That was a clue and he didn't like where it was pointing him. Doyle eyed his partner with growing apprehension. Bodie had unusual tastes in practical jokes, like the blue dye in the tea last month.

"One of the girls must have left this in here. I thought you could use a little grooming, petal. Scruffy thing that you are." Bodie waved a hairbrush under his nose.

There was a sinking feeling in the region of Doyle's stomach. "Oh no, you haven't, have you, Bodie? Tell me you haven't."

"I haven't," Bodie agreed guilelessly.

Breathing a sigh of relief, but not trusting that amicability, Doyle reached a doubting hand up to his hair.

"I lied!" Bodie crowed.

"Shit, no!" Doyle scrambled off the couch with hasty lack of grace and dashed for the mirror on the far wall. He moaned in horror at his reflection. Instead of the fresh curls he'd fallen asleep with, he now sported a six-inch halo of staticky brown frizz; he looked like an electrocuted cat. He stared at the mirror, aghast.

Across the room, Bodie stifled high-pitched giggles until Doyle turned to him in open-mouthed dismay and there was something so suggestively pornographic about his expression that it took but a second for Bodie to start laughing. It took half of one for Doyle to throw the brush at him. "Not a word," he tried to growl but gave in to a smile at the end.

"Aw, did Miss Kitty stick her paw in the electrical socket?"

"Shut up, Bodie!"

"'Shut up, Bodie,'" Bodie mocked in return.

Doyle lunged forward with a snarl. Bodie ran around the couch, partner in hot pursuit. "Help, help! I'm being chased by a rabid sheep!" he yelled gleefully.

It was hard not to break down laughing at the ridiculous look on his lover's face, but Doyle leapt over the couch back and plowed into Bodie; he encircled his neck with his hands and mock-strangled him, shaking him in punctuation with his words.

"You bastard! Now I'm going to have to wash it again."

The exact mechanism of Bodie's escape was a blur, but Doyle went from wrapped around Bodie's front to facing away and pinned to the wall with the man in question standing between his legs, hips and groin pressed enticingly against his rear. Doyle felt heat suffuse him like a too-close fire. When Doyle moved to push himself away from the wall, Bodie countered by holding his upper arms to the wall and leaning closer.

"Ah ah ah, none of that now," Bodie breathed in his ear and ground a firming crotch closer. He blew on a demolished ringlet. "Darling."

No matter how he squirmed, Doyle couldn't break free and between Bodie's weight on his arse, the grip on his arms, and his own breathless giggles, he was helpless to get away. "Bod-eeeey."

Bodie was too busy puffing breaths at Doyle's hair to notice anyone entering the room.

"If you are quite finished," a dry voice enquired.

Bodie startled and Doyle jumped and Bodie discovered there was a skull, quite hard, beneath the fluff. He stumbled backwards and clutched at his sore nose, his eyes watering. "Ogh, I fink oo bwoke mibe nobe!"

Cowley surveyed his top operatives, one with a trickle of blood oozing from a mashed nostril and sniffing with undignified gusto, the other..."My god, man, what happened to you?"

"Bodie, sir." Doyle glowered at his partner. "Found a hairbrush and decided to have a little fun."

Cowley just stared. Doyle's hair waved a gentle hello as he ducked his head. Their fearless leader bit back an unbecoming and un-leaderly snicker.

"It's dry out, sir!" Doyle tried to explain.

The lounge room door opened and disgorged another curly-headed colleague. Agent 5.9 headed for the tea kettle, caught sight of the little gathering, and did a double-take. "Jesus, Doyle, you look like a dandelion puff!"

"Shut it, Lucas, or I'll sic Vidal Sassoon here on you with his brush."

Lucas, favouring his hair and his head the way they were, left sans tea. Bemused silence reigned again in the lounge. The clock ticked forward. Bodie fished a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his nose before blowing it loudly. Doyle shifted from one foot to another, uncomfortable under scrutiny without anything to lean against.

"Hey, Doyle!" The door swung open a third time. "Oho, it is true then!" And then slammed shut.

Doyle cringed. There was no hope for it now, word of his "new 'do" would be all over CI5 in minutes.

"Go get yourselves cleaned up," Cowley said to Bodie. "Report back here in ten minutes. The pair of you have a new assignment in Newcastle. And, Doyle? Do something about your hair. It's untidy." And he left, leaving behind a thick manila folder and a faint waft of whisky and disapproval.

Bodie waved to the door. "After you, sunshine."

His partner gave him a sidelong look. "Why should I trust you near me, let alone behind me?"

"Because I don't have anything left to torment you with. No brush, no dye, no itching powder." He held up his empty hands.

Doyle shrugged, opened the door, and started forward.

Bodie pinched his arse as he cleared the sill.


End file.
